The Raven
by SpencerBrown
Summary: REVAMP! Kickass Quatre's an . . . immortal?
1. Midnight

**Total revamp!**

Hope everything flows a bit smoother and more passionate this time around, and once you've spun through it for a second - or perhaps first or third - time, there'll be a bit more than I left with!

**x x x**

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I only use them for non-profit mischief.

Notes: 1+4, sci-fi, yaoi, song fic

**The Raven**

Midnight

by Spencer

**x x x**

' _I touch the fire and it freezes me, '_

It had become something of a mantra recently.

' _I look into it and it's black. '_

He'd found himself scribbling it on scraps of paper, . . .

' _Why can't I feel? '_

. . . scratching it into rusty walls, . . .

' _My skin should crack and peel. '_

. . . and whispering it against the darkness at night.

' _I want the fire back. '_

He had no idea where the words had come from, just that they kept repeating themselves over and over inside his head.

With an inaudible sigh he hoisted himself up out of bed, slid on some pants and boots, all in black, and cranked open the heavy metal door to his bunk. The hallways were dim this hour of the cycle, but the mild bluish white glow sliced clearly off cold metal walls and floor, illuminating a clear path as he stalked toward the cockpit.

As he passed into the control room he was mildly surprised to find the pilot seat empty. Reaction spun immediately into action as he dropped, twirled and aimed his handgun into the shadow alongside the doorway. In the same instant he heard another weapon cocked to fire and caught sight of the muzzle trained between his eyes.

For a full breath neither weapon moved, . . .

. . . then another, . . .

. . . another, . . .

. . . and another.

Finally, Quatre smiled. "I win."

Holstering his weapon he turned and strode away starboard to the communications controls. The other gun vanished as Heero stepped from the shadows, silently returning to the pilot seat.

No new transmissions had arrived for several hours, so the blond turned his back on the instrument panel in favor of studying Heero. He stood, arms and ankles crossed, leaning against the console, and concentrated on staring at the side of the other man's neck, trying to evoke a response. When several minutes passed and none occurred, Quatre resorted to a more direct tactic: speech.

"Do you ever sleep?"

Heero glanced sideways to find himself matching stares with the blond, and returned question for question.

"Do you?" Quatre shrugged.

"Only when I'm bored." It was a statement Heero believed entirely, though he knew most would have brushed it aside as jest. No one knew much about the skinny blond rebel, his age, his past, his nationality, or how he managed to come back alive after every suicide mission, but Heero had his suspicions, and crazy as they seemed, he hadn't come to them lightly.

"You won't be bored for much longer."

Sky blue eyes suddenly changed, saddened, grew tired. A deep aching pain rose to the surface and danced across their liquid irises, which Quatre made no attempt to hide. He gazed steadily into Heero's own eyes, pleading, challenging, and baring himself utterly to the other boy. Heero felt the urge to squirm in his chair, but resisted, forcing himself to gaze calmly at his friend's naked spirit.

Quatre's voice reached him softly, sounding hollow, as though it echoed across a great distance. "You think so?"

"We fight in two hours."

And the revelation was gone. Heero could suddenly breathe again as deep blue eyes shifted away, sliding blankly over the endless celestial sea. For a long moment the silence hung thick and heavy, then the blond's mouth twitched at a wry smile.

"Of course." He pushed himself from the console and headed back toward the door, boots thumping lightly across the cold metal. He paused at the door, turning back just enough to toss a quiet farewell over one slim shoulder.

"'Night, Heero."

Heero watched his reflection disappear against the tapestry of midnight and stars and tried to ignore the chilling echo of resignation.

**x x x**

Any comment is always appreciated, but constructive criticism is adored. Plus, bonus points to anyone who recognizes the song.


	2. Mission

**The Raven 2**

Mission

by Spencer

**x x x**

' _I touch the fire and it freezes me. '_

He spun silently through the blackness of space, his tiny shuttle slipping undetected past the forge's expansive security net.

' _I look into it and its black. '_

He drifted among tiny asteroids, faulty machine parts, ruined bits of shuttles and computers, dense clouds of slag, and anything else the great factory had seen fit to dump in their backyard.

' _Why can't I feel? '_

All these things could easily have been reused, but it was faster and cheaper to just dump them in space and let somebody else worry about the cleanup.

' _My skin should crack and peel. '_

Their laziness would be their undoing, as the constantly moving cloud of debris gave Quatre perfect cover, easy access to their facility completely undetected.

' _I want the fire back. '_

The cockpit was utterly dark, everything electrical turned off to blend in among the garbage, but the tiny crystal powered watch on his wrist still functioned, and he began to count down as another phrase echoed through his head.

' _Now through the smoke she calls to me, . . . '_

Why couldn't silence just be silence anymore?

' _. . . to make my way across the flame, . . . '_

Every time he tried to have a moment of peace his conscious or subconscious or whatever the hell it was would fill his mind with words. He couldn't sleep, or meditate, or even just space out and let his mind rest for a while. He felt edgy, fidgety, like he needed to do something important, but he had no idea what it was. He'd been like this for years now, maybe even a decade or two, but the longer it went on the more restless he became.

' _. . . to save the day, . . . '_

Joining the rebels had helped at first, it was nice to have a cause, even if it was not his own, and the emptiness had been filled for a time, but now that was fading again.

' _. . . or maybe melt away. '_

The only times he was at peace were during his missions, blindly throwing his life away again and again. He knew it was reckless, foolish, that he was putting himself and others at undue risk, but he really didn't care. That danger simply compounded the others, blocking the restless stream of words for a short while.

' _I guess it's all the same. '_

A very short while.

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . He engaged the docking pads just as his pod drifted into the hull of the factory, striking with a barely audible thump and attaching solidly. Right on target. The tiny shuttle was only six feet by four, and was entirely mechanical to avoid detection of any electronics. Its sole mode of propulsion was the same as its navigation, momentum from launch. If the initial calculations were off, or an unknown force entered the scenario, there was nothing to do but wait and see where it landed, if it landed at all.

Luckily, Trowa's information had been flawless, placing Quatre exactly where he had intended. Space suit sealed, he hit the hatch release and floated to the hull. Small magnets held his hands and feet to the factory's smooth metal skin as he shuffled toward the garbage chute. He pulled himself quickly up the shaft, feeling his way in the darkness, as artificial gravity slowly began to take hold. Every air lock on a station like this was required to have an outside release catch in case of accidents. Quatre felt around until he found the catch, then pulled a small radio from his belt. He clicked it on, checked the frequency, touched it against the vibrations of his mask, and spoke quietly.

"Raven to Yuy."

Static crunched through the silence before Heero's flat response, "Yuy here."

"Is the flock in place?"

"Affirmative."

"Then begin the approach."

"Done."

As he put up his radio, a smile began to spread across Quatre's face. This was the fun part. He took firm hold of the release catch a split second before the entire factory rocked and he was thrown bodily across the chute, tearing the catch open as he went. He slammed into the wall as the factory began to shudder and fiery lights flashed from the path he'd followed. The battle had started.

Once his head stopped spinning, Quatre pulled himself into the open air lock, hit the compressor, and waited as air slowly flooded the chamber. He grinned as adrenaline began to pump through his system. This was it.

' _To save the day, . . . '_

Stop, stop, stop! Why couldn't he get rid of this? Every quiet moment was filled, and this moment wasn't even quiet!

' _. . . or maybe melt away. '_

The lock opened, revealing an empty corridor, but echoes of running feet jolted the air. Emergency lights swung brilliant arcs of red fire across the walls, beating like a rhythmic heart within the factory. Quatre drew his weapons and paced into the hall, a dark shadow moving in. A few people ran along nearby corridors, but Quatre ignored them, moving steadily toward his targets. Every so often he would stoop to drop a small black object before continuing on his way, twisting through the maze of passages with the speed of a man with a goal. He zigzagged through the compound, often going in near circles to make sure each small box was placed in exactly the right location.

Before long he'd come to the engine room and his last package. He had met with a few guards along the way, but had dealt with them as swiftly as he was silent and moved on. He felt no remorse; they would die soon anyway. Now he raised his weapon, expecting any manner of attack as he slipped through the door, but the sight that greeted him was quite welcome. Three soldiers lay dead across the floor while a fourth worked quickly at a computer terminal.

"Hey, Barton. How much longer?"

"Nearly done."

"Good." He walked to one of the bodies and gazed down on the first effects of death. A clean shot through the heart had brought this man's end, and judging from the less precise wounds on the other two, he had been the first to die. The soldier was young; though Quatre had never been good at guessing age he could at least tell that. A face little scarred by time, free of wrinkles, devoid of smiling lines, was just beginning to pale past the natural hue of those who had never walked under Earth's sun. His expression was calm, even serene, though he must have felt something at his death. Mortals always fought so hard against death, struggling with all their feeble strength against the inevitable, yet this man seemed content. He'd barely begun to taste life, yet he seemed not to mind leaving it.

' _I guess it's all the same. '_

Quatre looked on the boy's body as the empty place inside him gushed forth an agonized screech. That's what he wanted. More than anything else he had ever desired, he longed for that serenity, that silence, that peace . . . but it would never be his. No matter how long he lived, or how many times he tried, it would never remain within his grasp. Mortals were so fragile. They could die any one of a million ways, yet no matter how violent his end, he couldn't follow. He would never rest, never find peace, never end. He would watch everyone he knew or had ever known age and die without him, leaving him with nothing but loneliness and pain. The human heart is made for a lifetime of goodbyes, not an eternity of them. These men he fought with would soon disappear, too. He knew he should not get too close, protect himself and shield what remained of his sanity, but he had already begun to care for these men. He admired their strength, their courage, their passion, and their determination to improve life for those around them, regardless of the personal cost. They were truly remarkable men, but Quatre knew he was growing too close.

'Maybe I'll leave tomorrow, when this battle is over I'll head out on my own again. It would be safest.'

"Raven." Quatre spun and drew, leveling the muzzle of his gun between Trowa's eyes. The blonde looked haunted, and for a moment the green eyed boy thought he might get a bullet in the brain. Then blue eyes shifted, calmed and froze over like ice over a deep pool. Quatre holstered his weapon, stepping away from the soldier's body without another glance. "Are we ready?"

"Yes. Now we just have to get back to the ship and-" The sentence was cut off as a powerful explosion rocked the factory, sending a screeching shudder through the heavy metal frame.

"Damn them." Quatre's eyes widened as he realized the danger. "They've played with one of my bombs. It's a chain reaction now, the place'll be gone in under five minutes."

Trowa didn't need another warning as they set off at a dead sprint toward the nearest escape pods. Another massive explosion tossed them to the ground, but it was only a second before they were back on their feet and moving. Others had apparently realized the danger, because when they got to the airlock all but one of the tiny pods had been taken. Quatre shoved Trowa toward it and turned back to the halls when Trowa grabbed him from behind.

"Wait, I won't leave without you." Quatre shoved him off and in a millisecond the gun was poised back against his forehead.

"There's no time to argue. Get in the pod or I'll shoot you here. I've got the shuttle I came in. Get the ship far enough away to ride out the explosion then look for me afterward. Just don't," he paused, as a tiny spark of fear cracked the blue ice of his eyes. "Just don't leave me." With that he turned and ran headlong the way he had come. He trusted Trowa's good sense enough to leave him without actually seeing his escape, but there was a problem with the scenario he had told the other rebel. The first bomb to go off had been near the beginning of the chain, thus the area of the factory through which he'd entered was already in smoldering pieces, as was his shuttle.

The next explosion was much nearer, and much more powerful. Quatre was running along a high catwalk in one of the hangars, looking for a ship to get him at least as far away as possible before the final explosion hit. The blast knocked the entire factory to its side, but unfortunately wasn't enough to disable the artificial gravity. Quatre was thrown through the flimsy railing, and had the time to think, 'this is going to hurt,' before a sudden hard impact with the hangar floor.

**x x x**


	3. Missing

**The Raven 3**

Missing

by Spencer

**x x x**

' _To save the day, or maybe melt away. '_

"Everyone back to the ship! I've got Trowa and the place is about to blow!" Duo's voice rang clearly through the cockpit, yet Heero hesitated. 'He's got Trowa, but where's Quatre?'

Heero made another sweeping arc toward the factory, searching for a second escape pod. Each member of their team was always equipped with a small homing beacon for just such situations, but sometimes enough interference could block the signal. Quatre's bombs certainly constituted 'enough interference'. More than just explosives, the massive detonations wiped out electronic signals, radio frequencies, and radar. The equipment on Heero's fighter was designed specifically to withstand the devices, yet he still experienced a small fluctuation in readings and a few minor malfunctions. It couldn't hurt to check again.

"Heero, what are you doing? Get out of there now!" Duo's voice held no room for argument, but Heero had never been one to blindly accept orders. He held his position, waiting for their last member.

"Heero," Trowa's quiet voice broke over Duo's frequency. "He stayed to find another way out; there weren't enough life pods. He said to get away and come back to look for him after the blast. He said . . ." In five years Heero had never heard this kind of emotion in the quiet man's voice. "He asked us not to leave him, Heero."

Silence engulfed the com channels.

'Damn him.' Heero had known he would try something like that. It had happened too many times in the past for him not to expect it, yet every time it clawed out a new pit of dread in the Japanese pilot's stomach. It was just too risky. Not even Quatre could keep coming back from that type of danger forever.

"Damn him." With a few more muttered curses, Heero turned his fighter back for the ship. The factory really was about to go, and he knew his little craft would never withstand the blast.

'If he gets out of this alive, I'll kill him.'

**x x x**

Quatre woke on the hanger floor, shooting pains running all through his body.

'Well, I haven't blown up yet. I wonder how much time that just cost me.' He sat up, ignoring the stabbing sensation in his lower back, and pulled his twisted left leg out from under him. He certainly hadn't landed prettily, but he didn't have the time to sit and heal. Even if he'd woken immediately, he still only had a moment or two before the whole place blew up around him.

Another explosion answered his thought and he knew he'd run out of time. The next one would be the last, and the guys wouldn't have much of him left to look for . . . until it was far too late and they were long gone.

As much as death appealed to him, the thought of floating through space, suffocating every few minutes for eternity, was terrifying, and something he was willing to avoid at all cost. He now faced just that if he couldn't figure out how to get out of here in one piece.

'Here goes nothing.' He hoisted himself to his feet, hoping that his twisted leg would support him. It burned like fire and trembled horribly, but carried him faithfully across the hanger to the flight suits. After slipping awkwardly into one he limped to the door console. 'I hope this works.'

Alarms blared as the huge docking bay doors slid open and all the compressed air was sucked out into the void. Quatre let himself go, hurtling through the doors and out into space. If he were extremely lucky his momentum would carry him to the outer edge of the initial blast, and he could ride the shockwave further out of range.

'Right, and Heero will sprout wings and fly.'

The abrupt loss of gravity gave him the sensation of falling, and he closed his eyes, relinquishing his fate to whatever gods found him interesting. The blast lit behind him as a roaring wall of pure thundering force slammed into him, knocking him further from the growing fireball. The entire asteroid and all the man made creations on it had disappeared now, consumed in flame. He felt the heat rushing towards him, licking, swallowing, he felt burned through, nothing but ash, and the welcome oblivion rushed in again.

**x x x**

This time he woke to numbing cold, icy needles digging their way into his flesh. He was alive, and he was whole, one good, one bad, but how much time had passed? Had his friends already come and gone? How long had it taken him to wake? Would they have left him here to suffer in the darkness? There was no light to judge by, only the multitude of spinning stars. Would this be his existence until the universe collapsed, spinning in nothingness, the chill eating its way continuously into his bones?

' _I guess it's all the same. '_

The mantra stopped his panicked mind's chattering and allowed him a slow deep breath.

'Deep breath?' His space suit was still intact! It was singed badly, but in one piece, which meant he'd endured the blast far better than he'd hoped! It also meant his beacon had most likely survived, and it had likely only been a short while since he'd lost consciousness. His friends were still out there, they were still coming for him. A giddy smile spread across his face as his vision wavered.

'Must be running out of oxygen, but as long as Heero's out there I know he'll come for me. I'm not alone.'

**x x x**

The debris field was enormous. All the metal and stone that hadn't completely disintegrated was floating around in huge gnarled chunks, constantly changing direction as they crashed into one another. It was not the safest place for any ship to be, let alone one the size of the Windstar, but her crew were not about to let a little space flotsam stand between them and their teammate.

They had all gotten safely out of range by the time the final blast hit, but as soon as the last of the fire had been smothered by the void they had headed straight back for the epicenter. Neither Duo nor Wufei held much hope for their comrade's survival, but that did not stop them from searching. They kept their fears to themselves as Heero and Trowa manned the pilot's chair and communications panel, hoping for any sign.

Chunks of frozen stone smacked against the hull as Heero steered around the largest fragments. If Quatre had gone toward the last explosion, and somehow managed to escape the blast, the force would have pushed him in this direction. Maybe. Heero knew it was a long shot, but it was still the best they had to go on, and given his past record, he was not about to doubt Quatre's skill in escaping certain death. The man had a truly unnatural ability to come out of the worst situations completely unscathed. He had returned from missions with his clothes sliced, torn, riddled with bullet holes, and burned to ash, but his pale skin never had a mark. He insisted on taking every one of the most dangerous missions by himself, his only requirement being a solid supply of black clothes to replace those he lost. Another oddity, Heero had never seen the blonde dress in any color. He always wore the shade of midnight, lending him the nickname, Raven.

His arrival had turned the group's fortunes around. Four boys, each born on a different orbital colony, had begun fighting for the freedom of their people against OZ's tyranny, and had grown into a vicious thorn in the organization's side. They were fast and deadly, attacking OZ at its weakest points, taking out factories, satellites, and shuttles. General Kushrenada had personally asked for each of their heads on a platter, yet OZ was a massive threat, controlling the entire Earthsphere, and they were only four men. Backed by Howard, a rebellious ship and weapons manufacturer sympathetic to their cause, they had all the equipment they needed. Still, they were a scruffy lot, fighting by the seat of their trousers, with no greater plan than to cause as much difficulty to OZ as possible.

The blonde came to them, sneaking past Duo's top notch security system, through radar nets, surveillance cameras, motion sensors, and more, walking straight onto the bridge and right up to Heero. The Japanese boy threw the first punch and within seconds the duel had ended, each boy with his own gun poised at the other's head. Through the tense silence the blonde had smiled, uncocked his pistol and said, "I win." From that moment on he was part of the team, and their luck had never been better.

With Quatre's help they could accomplish so much more, tackling bigger targets and tighter security. There was no defense he couldn't evade nor weapon he couldn't master, and all those ideas formerly disregarded as too risky or dangerous, now fell to Quatre, who always managed to succeed . . . and come back. Heero knew this should have aroused suspicion, but at the time they had been so desperate and so grateful that all questions were forgotten, and Quatre had become the backbone of the operation.

Since then there had been countless suicide missions, times when Heero had 'known' beyond doubt that Quatre was dead, yet the blonde always returned, singed and bloody, but miraculously intact. Time after time, just when all hope was lost, Quatre would appear, flash a toothy grin, then vanish into his quarters. The next morning would pass as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and the battle would continue.

Heero had come to trust this pattern, and to rely on it even when the others had lost all hope. Now it drove him onward, refusing to let him accept the certain knowledge that Quatre was dead, that he _must_ have been incinerated in the blast, that no human could possibly survive such an explosion, and that even had he managed to outlast the fire, the cold vacuum of space would still have claimed him by now. He refused to believe it, wouldn't believe it, not until . . .

**x x x**

' _. . . I look into it and it's black. . . I want the fire back. . . '_

Silence. . .

**x x x**

' _. . . To save the day, or maybe melt away, I guess it's all the same. . . '_

Quatre groaned silently, frozen vocal cords grating against the vacuum of space. Without air he was drifting, even while living, in and out of consciousness. Everything hurt, twisting his mind in a haze of splintering pain.

' _So I will walk through the fire,_

'_cause where else can I turn? '_

Every agonized cell screamed, and the desperate longing for death was interrupted by a single thought:

' _I will walk through the fire and let it . . . '_

'Heero, please find me.'

**x x x**


	4. Missed

**The Raven 4**

Missed

by Spencer

**x x x**

"I've got it!" Duo's excited outburst shattered the tense silence, drawing three pairs of eyes sharp with expectation and hesitant hope.

"What've you got?" Trowa's voice was quiet, tightly controlled, doggedly refusing to crumble in the echoing stillness.

"His homing beacon." Slim fingers danced across the console, narrowing in on the source. "There." Small holographic cross-hairs flipped to life and Heero shot toward the target, racing a time he knew was already long past. Duo bit his lip nervously and glanced between Trowa and Wufei. An orphan from the L2 colony, Duo grew up as a mercenary thief, running guns, technology and supplies between colonies. His partner, Howard, owned a large above-board transport company and was their primary financial backer, not to mention his donation of their primary ship, the Falcon. Duo had been Heero's first partner, and his limitless enthusiasm and undying loyalty held the team together. He had been the first to get Quatre to open up, as much as the blonde shared his guarded heart with anyone, and Heero knew beyond doubt that Duo would never give up on his friend, no matter how bleak the outlook.

What Heero found truly startling, however, was that his own resolve to find their teammate was just as solid.

'"He asked us not to leave him, Heero."'

Yet, when Wufei's harsh gasp directed his attention from dodging debris to the approaching figure, even Heero's determined heart fell. A body floated in the sea of darkness before them, a tiny form among the piecemeal factory carcass, death's horror expressed in a fragile frozen figure. As they drew closer the first of the burns became clear. Large splotches of black charred plastic covered most of the suit. Melted daubs of blackened metal and plastic hung in the place of circuitry. Though not incinerated, their friend had not escaped the explosion.

Heero held his breath as his eyes shut, steeling himself for the task at hand before facing the others. When he finally turned, Duo was stone-faced, and Wufei was gazing with concern at Trowa. The brunette was posed much as Heero had been, still and silent, but none could mistake the single tear that leaked from beneath pinched lashes. Heero waited as Wufei placed a comforting hand on Trowa's shoulder, and the tall boy quickly reclaimed his composure.

"Go to the airlock and get him on-board. I'll join you once we're clear of the debris." Duo responded with a curt nod and abrupt spin, striding purposefully off the bridge with Wufei and Trowa close behind.

By the time Heero finally made it back to the airlock, Quatre's space suit had been peeled off and tossed aside in a crumpled heap. All attention was focused on the body splayed flat across the floor, every gaze watching and willing the CPR to work. Yet, despite Duo's desperate enthusiasm, the figure below remained still, silent and unresponsive. The familiar features were pale blue and icy to the touch, a perfect porcelain doll.

The seconds ticked away as Duo continued to work on the corpse, refusing to accept that his friend was already lost beyond his reach. With a heavy glance to Trowa, Wufei finally laid a restraining hand on Duo's shoulder. The brunette sat back, tears dripping down pale cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the desolate scene.

"What are you doing?" Heero's icy voice sliced into the silence, startling his three grieving companions. "Don't stop." Anguished violet eyes gazed up at him, too hurt to respond.

"Heero . . ." Wufei moved toward him, offering the same steady consolation that he'd given Duo, but the blue eyed boy twisted away from his touch, crossing to quickly kneel on the opposite side of the cold body, resuming the steady cycle of CPR.

"Heero, stop," Duo pleaded, expressive eyes now boring into his friend.

"No."

"He's dead." Trowa's voice, rough with tears, was a loud bark in the echoing chamber. "Leave him alone."

Heero ignored their protests, blocking their voices from his mind. His world narrowed to the pale face before him, his pounding hands and steady breaths. Quatre couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. Heero was sure. He had seen the ruined clothes, the destroyed shuttles and pods. There was no possible way Quatre could have survived all that, yet be killed now. He was sure. He was desperate.

He was terrified.

Duo glanced worriedly up at Wufei. He and Trowa were watching their leader with equal trepidation. It was not like the stoic man to act irrationally, and this was going beyond all bounds. Quatre had been dead long before they'd reached him. Duo had tried to revive him due to blind hope, but it was clear now that their efforts were in vain. Heero's actions were pointless and painful and Trowa was about to wrestle him away when a strangled gasp froze them all in their tracks.

Quatre jerked upright with a choked cry, eyes wide as he took in the startled faces around him. Utter silence reigned as blue eyes met blue, comprehension passing from one mind to another. Then the taboo was violently broken as Quatre leapt to his feet and bolted out of the room, leaving his four bewildered friends to stare at one another in confusion.

**x x x**


End file.
